Eye Contact
by MayaTheGreatish
Summary: In which Soul has regrets, but can never take it back.


**This is a birthday present for my best friend. She gave me this prompt awhile back, and I thought it'd make a nice present. Happy 19th, Fiona! I don't own Soul Eater or the characters, blah, blah, read the thing, jeez.**

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Soul stepped out onto the balcony, drink in one hand and the other deep in the pocket of his black, pinstripe slacks. The dark, cool night breeze made a nice contrast to the stuffy, warm brightness of the party at his back. He stood in the doorway and raised his drink to his lips, off in his own world. The mission today had gone well, as always, and he and Maka had resonated well, as always. Too well.

For once, her head wasn't in the battle, and through their link, Soul could tell. Their target today had been very easy, a few Kishin in Vatican City that required removal, so Maka's distraction hadn't been a problem. Fighting was second nature to her anyway, and they didn't even have to use Witch Hunter, let alone their cooler techniques. Honestly, Soul would've been bored were it not for Maka's thoughts, and how hard he tried to hide from her, even deep down in his soul, how much the object of her distraction pissed him off.

He heard a noise to his side, out of sight of the door in the darkness cast by the building. Curious, he took a few silent steps forward to see a couple that had apparently escaped the party to make out. Soul stifled a chuckle and almost turned around, but he froze. The girl had her legs in her boy's lap, and he'd recognize those legs anywhere. _Maka._ Her big green eyes were shut, her fingers buried deep into blue hair. _Wait, blue…?_

Of course, now he remembered. Maka and Black*Star had started dating a week ago. Of course they'd sneak off for a snog, it only made sense. They were teenagers after all. Soul could see Black*Star's hand trailing up Maka's thigh—she was in another of her damn short skirts—and Maka wasn't stopping him; if anything, she kissed him more urgently.

Soul found he couldn't look away, like that tired old train wreck thing. He wondered if Black*Star knew why Maka was with him. Why she wasn't with Soul, her partner in all things but the romantic and sexual, the one who knew her better than anyone and accepted it all, and settled for Black*Star.

He wondered how much Black*Star knew about Soul and Maka's death-defying mission last month. They had come away battered, bruised, sliced up, and grinning. But everyone knew that. He wondered if Maka had told her new boyfriend about how she and Soul had staggered, giggling like idiots, into their shared apartment. Had she told him about how she tripped and fell into Soul, and he caught her, like usual? What about the unusual way she had lifted her head and stared up into Soul's eyes from his arms? If she hadn't mentioned any of those, there was no way she'd told him about laying her hands deliberately on Soul's chest, rising on tiptoe and pressing her lips to his.

If she hadn't told him all that, she couldn't have said anything about how Soul pushed her away.

Maka had been off for weeks after that, but neither she nor Soul told anyone why. In the privacy of their apartment, Soul tried to talk to her, but if he so much as smelled like he might broach the subject, she brushed him off and casually locked herself in her room. After two weeks of this, Soul gave up trying and decided to let it go. She'd come to him again when she was ready. When he happened to glance down in class the next day, he saw Maka and Black*Star's fingers intertwined under the long desk.

Now, he tortured himself, watching Maka kiss Black*Star, both of them having apparently not heard him come out onto the balcony. Some ninja Black*Star was, too distracted by nookie to sense the approach of potential enemies, and at this point, Soul would gladly take advantage of his inattention and slice him in two. Without warning, Maka's eyes flew open and met Soul's. His breath, already shallow from anger and frustration, stopped altogether, his red eyes going wide. Somehow, her expression remained the same, and she didn't stop kissing Black*Star, didn't even falter. She shifted impossibly closer to her boyfriend, her fingers tightening in his hair, as she coolly held Soul's gaze.

Soul bit his lip and whirled around, dropping his drink into the trashcan in the doorway and burying both his hands in his pockets as he stormed back into the warm, bright ballroom. Maka had always been better at staring contests than him.


End file.
